Amaranth
by RosaEldi
Summary: When Riff left, he left not only Cain, but his job.  Cain has no choice but to hire a new Head Butler.  Unwilling to hire just anyone, he turns away everyone who applies.  Late at night, a woman comes to apply, refusing to be turned away.  Now what?
1. Now Hiring

The night wind tangled its insubstantial fingers through his raven black hair as he leaned on the balcony railing. His eyes trained to the stars as though the answer to the question that plagued his mind might reside there. Golden-green that so willingly betrayed the shameful circumstances of his birth.

Loneliness threatened to overcome him. The presence that had always been there to comfort him, no matter where he had hidden himself, was now gone. Riff was gone. He had never truly existed. Not the Riff he had known and loved, anyway. That narrowed the number of people who loved him down to two, his Uncle Neil and of course, Merryweather. But Riff had known everything. Every doubt. Every shameful secret. He had seen and, back when they had been more recent, treated the numerous wounds on his back. Riff had mocked him and left him alone in the cold. Alone with his secrets.

Cain sank to the floor on his balcony, resting his forehead to the cold stone of the railing. Unfortunately, there was something far more menial that Riff had left empty. He needed a servant. He had a few, but they were simply household staff. He needed a personal servant and a head of his household. Someone he could trust.

Trust. Cain laughed aloud at that. A cold, jaded, mirthless sound. He had trusted Riff. Now look at him. He was outside on an autumn night, shirt undone and shivering. He was likely to become ill at this rate and without Riff...

This was distracting! Cain needed a new head of household and personal servant. He mentally groaned at what he was sure would be an entirely exhausting interview process. It wasn't often nobility required such an essential position of such as the head of a household. Not to mention a personal servant. Oh, bloody hell. High class, pompous idiots whose only intent would be to gain notoriety off the trouble that followed him everywhere. Damn that curse.

He stood with a heavy sigh. Might as well get started on the advertisement. He withdrew a piece of paper and a pen from a desk drawer and sat. He tapped the pen on the desk, trying to find the words to accurately describe the attributes and qualifications he required. It was going to be long night.

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Merryweather came in the next morning to find her brother slumped over his desk, asleep. The advertisement lay finished on his desk with one large ink blot at the bottom where his pen had come to rest as he had dozed off. She shook her head; he was going to make himself ill.

"Brother," Merryweather called softly to him, "it's time to wake up." She shook him slightly. Cain merely mumbled something in his sleep, shifted, and dozed back off.

She sighed and decided to try something she had been plotting for a while as a jest. "Brother, Oscar and I are eloping. Wish us luck. I'll send word when we're settled." At those words, Cain sat upright with a start, immediately overbalancing and falling from his chair to the floor.

"Huh?!" He looked wide-eyed up at Merryweather who smiled smugly down at him.

"Morning, Brother." She giggled and walked away.

"What's this about eloping?" Cain asked, lifting himself from the floor and pushing his bangs from his eyes. "Do I have to kill someone?" She caught the reference to Oscar and knew he was joking. Sort of.

"No, but I had to say something to get you up." She giggled again, pleased with herself. "Worked like a charm. Now get dressed, Brother. Breakfast will be ready soon." She left her brother with that instruction, and skipped happily through the door.

Cain watched his sister leave and pondered her little joke. Maybe it would be better if Merryweather married Oscar. He was trustworthy, caring, gentle if a bit boisterous, and would protect Merryweather with his life. An attribute he had displayed on multiple occasions. She would be safer with Oscar than she ever would be with him. Merryweather was still a bit young, but he could easily think of couples wed at that age, and she had grown into quite a young lady. He mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking?!

He sighed at himself and set about dressing himself, forcing the bitter memories that waited like hungry tigers for a moment of weakness to the back of his mind. The littlest thing could set it off. He would submit the advertisement to the paper and his uncle; that should about do it.

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"And that's about all." The man said. What was his name again? Something… with a "W"? W…Wi…Will…ah. William Kent. Funny how the last name followed the first so easily. "Um…sir?" Oh, right.

"Yes. Well, you seem to have quite the resume." Cain offered, trying to remain polite to this annoying beetle of a man. The applicant was tall, scarecrow thin and slightly hunched over. He seemed to be in his early forties. But the bit that Cain most despised was his eyes. They never stayed long in one place, always darting nervously from one place to another. And they never looked up to meet Cain's.

"So, do I have the job, sir?" He asked eagerly. Cain mentally grimaced.

"Well, I have had quite a few applicants and I have to review my notes, follow up on references, and all that. I'll contact you should anything come up." All the while, Cain was ushering William Kent purposefully out the door. Once the man was through, he hurriedly slammed the door and pressed his back against it to bar the way should the man make any attempt to reenter.

"That's a 'no' then." Merryweather said from a couch nearby and crossed a name from the list on her lap.

"More like a 'bloody hell no.'" Cain amended. He trudged back over to the table and looked at the tea placed upon it. It had been made by that beetle. He glared at it with disgust. Cain dumped it out the window with a flourish. "I'd rather drink piss."

"I could smell it from over here," Merryweather added, "and, bluntly, so would I." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"How many more?" Cain groaned. He sighed in fatigue.

"None for now. But there will be. We can bet on that."

"I suppose I will simply have to pick one." He muttered hopelessly. He leaned against the wall for support and covered his face with a hand.

"That Tom fellow seemed nice." His sister offered. "The tea was good."

"I checked him out. He has been sent to jail for the rape of young girls three times. Added to that, he was staring at you through the entire interview." Cain rattled off dispassionately. This sort of thing failed to bother him anymore for the most part. Merryweather shuddered.

"I didn't like any of the others. They were…" She searched for the right wording.

"Decidedly creepy." Cain offered, getting a nod. "Yes, I noticed as well," He sighed again, heavily. "We may just have to…" He was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Odd. You couldn't generally hear the front door from here unless someone knocked very, very loudly. Who could possibly…?

Cain went hesitantly to answer the door, it was late in the evening, just barely within the hours it was reasonable to come calling. He opened the door and looked at the one knocking.

"Hello, sir. I heard you needed some help and came to see if I met the qualifications." The salutation came from a young woman, her curly brown hair stuffed unsuccessfully under a hat with curls escaping about her and a worn scarf wrapped securely about her neck. Her shirt and coat were full of holes and threadbare. Her skirts were torn and muddy about the hem, and her shoes looked as though they would fall apart at the next step. She had a pretty face though; a kind warm smile and clear eyes. Green, he noticed, with brown around the center. Brown where his were gold.

"I'm sorry. I'm looking for a _man_servant." Cain said shortly, "Good evening," and attempted to shut the door smartly in her face. However, she stuck her boot in the way of the door and reopened it. She was still smiling, but in a determined way that he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Then I'll cut my hair, bind my breast, and grow a cock." She said coldly, smiling still. "I refuse to be turned away just because I'm a woman." He understood why her smile appeared strange now, she was angry, but determined to make a decent impression. Hell hath no fury… "At least let me interview, if you can find one good reason, aside form my gender, to turn me away then I'll accept that. But," she looked him straight in the eye, "Give. Me. A. Chance."

"Fine," he said and stepped out of the way of the door. She wiped her feet on the doormat and walked farther into the Hall. It was beautiful, if in a state of slight disrepair, she noted, cocking an eyebrow at the vase of dead flowers displayed on a table. "This way." Cain directed. She followed obediently.

Merryweather watched the applicant with interest. She was confident, pretty, and, she found much to her amusement, she point blank refused to take any crap from Cain.

She liked her immediately.

Cain pulled out a sheet of paper for notes and sat down, "You can make tea while we talk," he instructed. She nodded and quietly busied herself with the tea things. "First things first, what is your name?"

"Elizabeth James." She answered meeting his eyes as she did so. "You may call me Lizzie, if you like, my Lord."

"Miss James will suffice. Now, what experience qualifies you for this position?" He asked. She answered with confidence and ease to each question he posed, and there were quite a few. Some of which Merryweather was sure he hadn't asked anyone else and was making them up on the spot. It wasn't long before he had a steaming cup of tea in front of him. He motioned for her to sit down, and continued with the questions. Elizabeth watched him intently as he spoke, as if waiting for something.

"I see, which brings me to—."

"It's not poisoned you know." She interrupted, pointing to the tea, "It's going to get cold." Cain stared at her a moment, somewhat shocked that someone of such inferior birth would not just interrupt someone who was interviewing her for a job, but one of his far superior class and social standing. He shook his head.

"No." He said rather coldly, "I do not drink tea made by anyone other than a very specific person."

"Who isn't here." She retorted, starting to lose her patience, "If he were, then we wouldn't be talking right now, as you would not be needing someone to replace him." Elizabeth had stood from her seat in irritation, leaning across the table to speak directly in Cain's face. Her words were clipped short in anger.

Cain remained externally calm while he mentally restrained himself from slapping the woman.

"Drink it, My Lord." She insisted, pushing the cup a little closer to him. He met her eyes defiantly.

"No."

That did it. What an arrogant, self-centered, misogynist, vile, stiff-necked bastard!

"Fine," she snapped, "You want proof it's not poisoned?" Her voice began to rise in volume and pitch. "Here!" And sharply took Cain's cup and downed half of it, promptly returning it to its place on the saucer. She placed her hands on her hips, glaring impatiently and tapping her foot.

She was tapping her foot at him! And glaring at him as though he were a petulant child. He frowned, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and legs, and glared back. "No."

This livid staring contest continued for well over five minutes, neither side tiring or giving in. Merryweather watched, first in amusement, then in annoyance, and, finally, barely restrained irritation.

"Brother!" She snapped, "Just drink the damn tea!"

"Merryweather, watch your language!" Cain snapped. His sister glared at him from where she was standing on the couch, very intimidating despite the frills and ruffles. She pointed sharply to the tea on the table with an expectant scowl. Traitor. He scowled back, defeated, picked up the cup, held it to his lips and hesitated. What if it actually was poisoned? His heart quickened a little.

"A life lived in fear is a life half lived, My Lord." Miss James supplied. Her voice was surprisingly soft and warm, with a slight admonishing edge. A gentle reprimand.

Cain steeled himself and took a sip of the tea he held to his lips. He had to admit, it was very good. She managed not to over steep it, and put in just enough milk and honey to take the bitter edge off the tea without destroying the flavor. The aroma was pleasant as well. It was a bit cold, but he supposed he was to blame for that.

Merryweather watched in stunned amazement. Cain was drinking tea, albeit hesitantly, made by someone other than Riff. Maybe…?

"Well?" Elizabeth asked her impatience and irritation firmly back in place. Had he hallucinated that gentleness? "Have you found your reason to boot me firmly out the door, Lord Hargreaves? Or," she paused, a self-satisfied smirk on her face, "have you no real objections towards my resume aside from my sex?" She taunted.

"I have half a mind to throw you out the door for your complete lack of respect!" Cain yelled, his patience and temper had been growing thin all evening, and, finally, with that last little taunt, he snapped.

"Ha! Only half a mind? I was so hoping you had more. Admit it! I'm the best you've found by a long shot, and the best you're likely to find." Elizabeth and Cain were now shouting at each other at about an inch's distance, getting louder with each assault as if trying to cause the other to become deaf.

"Unfortunately!" Cain drew himself up to his full height, a head taller than Miss James, and tried his best to look superior. "I guess I'll just have to hire you!" He snapped.

"I guess you will!"

"You start tomorrow!"

"Fine by me!"

"Merryweather!" he shouted, and then caught himself, "Merryweather, please show Miss James to her room." Cain said tersely, "And find her something more…" He eyed her garb critically, "acceptable to wear."

Merryweather hopped off the couch, amused that anyone could so easily get under her dear brother's skin. She took Elizabeth by the hand and started for the door. "You know, brother," she said over her shoulder, "I don't think I've seen you this riled in quite some time."

Elizabeth paused before following Merryweather completely out of the room and gave a low, graceful curtsey, "Good night, Lord Hargreaves." And shut the door behind her.

What had he just done? He'd hired that… that…woman! Infuriating female! He'd find an excuse. She'd trip up somewhere and he would have the perfect cause to be rid of that noisome wench.

He sighed heavily. According to the clock, it was late and he was tired. Cain collapsed onto a chair and waited. He didn't wish to run into Miss James. She should be in bed soon.

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Merryweather was having a wonderful time showing Elizabeth around the house. Well, Merryweather called it a house. As far as Lizzie was concerned, the place was a bloody castle! If Merryweather weren't there to guide her, she wouldn't have been able to find where she had come from, much less anything like her room, or the kitchen for that matter.

"Merryweather?" Elizabeth asked softly.

"Hm?" She skipped to a halt and spun around. "What is it?" Her pale hair cascaded down around her, a single braid on the one side. Her new employer's sister was adorable and smiling sweetly.

"I your brother always like that?" She asked, "Oh! If it's not too bold, I mean."

Merryweather giggled, "Give him a chance to get used to you. It should get better. It's just," She paused, a sad smile replacing her bright one, "he's had the same servant for such a long time. They were very close. Then he just… left. It's still hard for him." She got a look of sudden concern on her face, "You won't tell him I told you, will you? I promised I wouldn't say anything, but I figured you should know at least a little."

"I won't tell a soul. You can trust me." Elizabeth knelt on the Hall floor, face to face with the concerned girl, "Thank you for telling me, Merryweather." She smiled grimly, "Since your brother's such a prick—don't tell him I said that, though I may call him that someday by accident anyway—we women have to stick together. What do you say?" She stuck out her hand, complete with fingerless gloves, "Friends?"

"Friends, Miss James." Merryweather took her hand and smiled brightly.

Elizabeth laughed aloud, "Miss James is much too formal. My friends call me Lizzie."

"I'll remember, Lizzie."

Lizzie stood, and excited look on her face. "Now, I believe your brother mentioned something about a new dress?"

Merryweather's face lit up as the realization of having another woman in the house hit her. She grinned broadly and took Lizzie's hand. "This way!" And ran down the Hall towards her room, dragging Lizzie behind her.

Cain checked the clock for the thousandth time. He had been in his study for over an hour, stubbornly waiting for a time when Miss James was likely to be in her room. He pushed his hair from his eyes. Well, he had a new servant. That was for sure. He had never met a woman quite that obstinate, save perhaps Merryweather, he added as an afterthought. Emmeline, his once and past fiancé, had been close, but not quite to the extent of Miss James.

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Cain looked again at the clock tick-tocking on the mantle. Ten o'clock. That should be late enough. Cain pulled himself out of the chair, joints creaking with fatigue. He had fully intended to go to bed two hours ago. Stupid wench.

His room happened to be in the other wing of the manor, forcing him to cross the Main Hall to get to it. The Main Hall, admittedly, was a wonderful entrance. A high ceilinged room with a beautiful grand staircase at the rear, directly opposite the door. The stairs led to the second floor, a balcony running along the walls overlooking the hall before branching off to other parts of the house.

Cain stepped out of the corridor onto the east wing's balcony to find Merryweather showing Miss James the Main Hall. He watched them interact from above. They seemed to get along quite well. His interest was piqued when he caught a question Miss James was asking Merryweather.

"Is your brother always like that?"

He had been a bit cold, he supposed. What shocked him most was Merryweather's response. She proceeded to tell that woman an extremely watered down version of the incident with Riff. Anger seethed in him for moment but cooled near instantly when he heard the concern in his sister's plea for Miss James not to say a word of it to him. He'd let it pass and pretend he had never heard this conversation.

Green-gold eyes watched to two become friends. Miss James showed a definite preference to being called Lizzie. Cain admitted to himself that the nickname suited her. The girlish name seemed to fit her lighthearted laugh and easy smile.

A slow smile graced his handsome features as Merryweather dragged Miss James off to participate in some girlish fancy, Miss James' hat falling off in the process. Her hair, freed from its prior captivity fell down to her waist in curling mahogany waves, the red within its color highlighted by the soft light of the chandelier. Miss scampered to snatch her hat from the floor and dash back to his sister.

He slowly made his way to his rooms, the smile slow to fade. Her smile was light and carefree. Her eyes alight with girlish mischief.

Stop that.

He couldn't afford to become attached to anyone else. She was pretty. That was true. Cain shut the door behind him and began to remove his clothes, starting with his shoes. She was smart, strong, and intriguing.

She was pain waiting to happen.

Ha. Cain resolved to keep himself as emotionally distanced from Miss James as possible. He would show her only the most basic of courtesies. Their relationship purely professional.

That would be all.

The last of his clothes fell into a heap on the floor. Cain climbed into bed and slid his naked body between the sheets. He would be cold and distant, he told himself again. It was easier for him, and, in the long run, safer for her.

Elizabeth.

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Merryweather was safely asleep in her bed, having picked out a new, serviceable dress for Lizzie. A dress which was currently hanging up in Lizzie's minimalistic closet, along with a sturdy, fashionable pair of boots waiting to be worn the next morning.

Lord Cain was surely sound asleep, his dreams untroubled. While she spent her first night in a strange house trying to tell herself that the unfamiliar sounds were just the household settling. It was quite a while before she managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

"Lord Hargreaves!"

The shriek resounding through the manor that woke Merryweather from her sleep the next morning was definitely the first in a long run of arguments, pranks, embarrassment, and general chaos that were to take place in the Hargreaves household.


	2. Attempts

I am so sorry it has taken me so long to update, life got away from me. I am writing three fanfictions at once. Forgive me. I will make every effort to update more quickly. Now, onward!

Thank you to all who reviewed:

Arret: I am so honored you are reading my fic. I hope you continue to read it. I recommend you read the series, it is really good.

Fumiki Zaraki: Oh, I feel so loved. Here you are!

Gir: Short, simple, to the point. Thank you.

Blackened Wing: It's awesome you're reading my fic. I love reading yours. I'm flattered. And you get a Cookie! With big chocolate chips!!!

After a restless first night in the Hargreaves household, Lizzy woke up early in order to ensure she would be ready on time. The clock marked 7:30 and she pulled herself from her bed and set her feet on the icy floor. Autumn was well under way and everywhere was cold until the sun rose.

Much to her surprise, Lizzy discovered her room had a small bathroom set off from it. The other servants had kept it nice and clean and ready for use. It was rather plain, but that was far from relevant, she had her own bath! Lizzy practically skipped over to the tub and turned on the faucet, running her hand experimentally under the water.

It was warm! She had hot and cold running water at her disposal. This was glorious. She spent some time wandering about, learning where things such as washcloths and soap were kept, and it was not long before the bath was full.

How wonderful it was to soak. She let the warm water relax her while she set about making herself clean. Her hair, she admitted to herself, was definitely taking the longest. It was plenty long and curly to boot. It soaked up water like a sponge and took forever to dry itself out. Not to mention, it had been decades since Lizzy had had an even half-way decent bath, her hair was greasier than bacon off the griddle and full of leaves, twigs, horribly tangled snarls, and, much to her horror, an alarming variety of insects. How long had it been since her last bath?! This prompted a meticulous cleaning of her hair, separating and searching the strands, detangling her near matted hair as she went. Finally clean and satisfied, Lizzy stood and drained the now disturbingly opaque bath water.

After checking the time (there was still plenty), Lizzy sat upon the stool before the vanity, carefully drying and brushing through her hair. She looked upon her reflection with content satisfaction. Lizzy's hair fell in graceful mahogany waves, shining and clean. It had been far too long since she had had the opportunity to bathe and groom like this.

Her bath done, Lizzy went to go get dressed. She removed the gown from the closet and began the infuriating trial that was women's clothing. There were always so many buttons, laces, ties and other securing implements. She was beginning to wonder which was going to end up taking longer, her dress or her bath. After much irritation, cursing, and twisting that would have made a contortionist jealous, Lizzy managed to clothe herself in the dress, dark grey and down to her ankles. Socks and boots were on shortly after considering how much simpler contraptions they were, especially when compared to her dress. Thank God she was not a high born lady. To add a corset, crinoline, and heavens knew what else to this would be unbearable.

One last thing. Setting her small bag on the bed she rummaged through it for a moment, finally removing a small narrow box. Inside was an indigo ribbon, given to her by her mother for special occasions. It may not have been much, but it was silk and its dark color was expensive to make. A small, fond smile played on her lips at the memory.

She had been young, maybe nine years old, and a gypsy caravan had gone through town. Her mother had taken her to see it and she had been awestruck. So many animals and colors. Women and men alike bedecked with piercings and bangles. Peddlers had set up their stalls full of exotic spices and trinkets. Lizzy had seen the ribbon and had fallen in love with the color. It was the dark blue of the night sky and the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Lizzy's mother noticed her staring at it and had tenderly asked if she wanted it. Lizzy, with all the innocence of a child, grinned broadly and nodded. After some haggling and an exchange of sorts, the ribbon was purchased. Her hair was long, even then, and her mother gathered the strands and tied them back with the ribbon, expertly securing them with a bow.

"There," her mother had said, "now you're a beautiful young lady, just like a princess. You take good care of that ribbon. You can wear it today, but then only for special occasions. Even princesses only wear their nice things for special occasions."

"Like my birthday?"

Her mother laughed gaily at that. Lizzy loved the sound of her mothers laugh, unrestrained and beautiful. Still half laughing, "Yes, like on your birthday." She hugged her daughter close, lifted her off the ground and spun her. "I love you, my dear one."

The clock chimed loudly behind her startling her out of her reverie. She had just enough time to find the kitchen, grab some breakfast for herself, and go to wake Lord Hargreaves.

Lizzy had gotten as far as the hallway before she realized something significant. She could not remember how to get to the kitchen. Her first day and already she was lost. Bollocks. And no one was in sight.

"Hello?" She called. "Um… It's my first day and I'm a little lost. Could someone please help me?" Lizzy wandered down the hall a ways, stopped, turned around and wondered if she should be headed in the other direction.

Not seeing a better option, she began to yell. Hoping against hope that someone would hear her in this… this… maze they called a house, and come to her aid. Luckily, someone did. A maid, it seemed.

"Lost already?" She called from down the hall, she giggled happily as she trotted up to her misplaced superior.

"Afraid so. I was trying to find the kitchen, but I got a little," Lizzy looked for a good way of putting it, "turned around." She managed a smile.

"I'll say. The kitchen's that way." She pointed matter-of-factly in the direction opposite of where Lizzy had been headed. The girl smiled knowingly. "Don't worry. I got lost when I first came here, too. You'll figure it out eventually. Come on, let's get some breakfast."

Breakfast, in Lizzy's opinion, was somewhat less than satisfactory. She could have made much better on her own she was sure, and, if she had time, was set on teaching the cook a few tricks.

The maid—had she asked her name?—seemed to be enjoying herself, though. Toast, eggs, sausage, tea, and much else, disappeared in front of her. Lizzy laughed to herself, amused at the fact that although the amount and speed in which the food was removed from the table, never once did she breach table manners.

A quick glance at the clock told of the need to move and wake Lord Hargreaves. Tea tray in hand and the maid in tow as her guide, they made their way to his chambers. Lizzy felt her stomach tie itself in knots with anxiety. She hoped she made a good impression.

All too soon, they were at the door to Lord Hargreaves chambers. "Here you are." The maid said cheerfully. "Good luck." And excused herself to tend to her duties.

"Okay, you can do this, Lizzy." She reassured herself, her voice echoing a bit in the empty hallway. Which was just as well. She did not want insanity on the grounds of talking to herself to be a reason for Lord Hargreaves to fire her. Lizzy was accosted by slight nausea as she laid her hand on the doorknob. She prayed her breakfast wouldn't try for an encore performance.

Lizzy let herself in, her mind wondering a minute on the breach of propriety but pushed it away quickly, the room still dark thanks to heavy curtains that covered the windows. Her eyes wandered to the bed where her Lord slept.

Odd. The bed curtains were open. _Was it by preference? _She wondered. Lord Hargreaves was fully asleep amid the rumpled sheets. She set the tea tray she had been holding on the bedside table and took a moment to observe him. The sheets bunched at his waist from his movements during the night revealing a lean, bare torso. Lizzy's eyebrows shot up in consternation when she realized his chest wasn't the only thing left bare. Lord Hargreaves slept in the nude! She felt the blush on her cheeks spreading across her face. Well, this was awkward. Lizzy nearly leapt out of her skin when Lord Hargreaves shifted in his sleep, a small sigh escaping his lips. Her eyes focused on his face. Unlike his wakeful countenance, cold, apathetic, almost cruel, his face while he slept, free of all masks and inhibitions, seemed younger, betraying the fact that he truly was only eighteen years of age. His brow knitted in an emotion she could not place, his eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids, lost in the expanse of his dreams. Perhaps nightmares. So vulnerable. Almost like a child.

She shook herself mentally. Back to work! If she was late waking him, it would be the perfect excuse for firing her. She wouldn't give him that. Lizzy strode purposefully to the window and drew the curtains sharply back. Light flooded the room, illuminating its lavish décor. Again with the dead flowers though.

"Lord Hargreaves, it's time for you to get up." She called. He shifted again and mumbled something unintelligible in response.

Lizzy moved closer, placing a hand on his pale shoulder. "Lord Hargreaves, wake up, please." She called a little more loudly. He muttered something that sounded a lot like, 'go away.' Or was it 'Sunday'?

"Lord Hargreaves!" She yelled, giving him a good shake, "Wake up!"

This time his face took on a distinctly annoyed look and said quite clearly, "I refuse. Go away." Like hell she would.

"Well then, you give me no choice." She said sternly. Lizzy gripped the sheets firmly in her fists and yanked them from the bed.

Cain sat bolt upright as the chilly morning air reached his suddenly bared skin. Interesting methods. He turned his gaze to his latest employee and nearly burst out laughing. Miss James stood with her hands clamped firmly over her eyes.

"What a rude way to be woken up." He said coolly, sitting himself more comfortably on the bed.

"Your schedule clearly stated you needed to be roused at this time, but you refused to get up. You left me little choice. Or would you prefer I use cold water next time, sir?" She inquired. Adopting an admonishing stance as best she could with her hand over her eyes, "Will you need any assistance dressing?" She asked. Cain gave a derisive snort.

"Not necessary." He responded, ignoring the painful twist his heart gave at the gesture. "I prefer to dress myself."

"Very well, sir. If you will cover yourself I will ready your morning tea, sir." One hand removed itself from her face, showing a squeezed shut eye, to instead hold the sheet out to her Lord Hargreaves.

Cain reached out and took it from her hand but as he did, an idea struck him. A devilish grin spread across his face. He had no intention of making this easy. Cain move the sheet around, making it sound as though he were covering himself, while leaving himself completely bared. He shifted making sure his scars were out of view, and arranged himself in a rather lewd position.

"Are you decent?" He had to stop himself from snickering at her inquiry.

"Very."

Lizzy let her hands drop.

An ear-shattering scream tore Merryweather from her sleep. It had come from her brother's room.

Fearing the worst, she leapt from her bed and dashed down the hall toward her older brother's room only to find someone dashing in the other direction. Lizzy. The young woman slowly came to a halt; one hand supported her as she leaned against the wall, the other was pressed against her chest while she tried to regain composure. Lizzy's eyes were wide with shock and she was breathing hard as though running that small distance left her out of breath. Merryweather caught up to her as quickly as she could with her nightdress swirling about her ankles.

"Lizzy, what happened?" She demanded out of concern.

"Absolutely nothing." Her brother's familiar voice came from behind her. She turned to find him leaning against the door post, clothed only in a dressing gown, every inch of him devilishly smug. Conspicuous at the very least.

"Brother, what did you do?" She asked, hands placed defiantly on her hips.

"Just as I said. Nothing." The statement was not _entirely_ false. He hadn't done anything. That was the point.

Merryweather did not miss the glare Lizzy shot at Cain. Lizzy had, by this point, well regained her composure. She stood, eyes locked with Cain, a silent conversation and a challenge was in that look. Lizzy looked away first.

"Merryweather, why don't you go get dressed and meet me in the garden for breakfast." Cain smiled warmly at her.

Merryweather opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it and closed it again. She ran over and hugged her brother, "Good morning," she giggled. Cain smiled at her silliness. Without another word she scampered off to get dressed.

"Good morning." Cain called after her. Once she was out of earshot, he turned back to Miss James. "See anything you like?" He smirked.

Lizzy fought the blush that threatened to show itself. How dare he? That image would be scarred into her retinas for all eternity she was sure. She felt her composure start to slip again in shock, anger, indignation, and over all, embarrassment. Lizzy mentally grabbed the thing she called 'composure' and firmly held it in place, determined not to appear weak in front of this man. "I don't know what you mean by that, sir." She met his eyes, "but are you certain you will not need any assistance getting dressed?"

Cain allowed himself to be slightly impressed. She had recovered quicker than anticipated. But her query tweaked the knife already lodged indefinitely in his heart. Would it not leave him? How could he forget him when the smallest daily task brought it all back to mind? Despair threatened to overwhelm him again. It must have shown on his face a little.

"Sir? Are you well?" Lizzy asked. His eyes snapped to her.

"I am fine, thank you," he said with more force than was needed, "and to answer your question, your," he paused as though to find the correct word, "assistance is not necessary." His voice was cold and cruel. "Go and see to breakfast." Cain turned abruptly on his heel and stormed off into his room, robe swirling behind him. Lizzy flinched involuntarily when the door slammed.

She had noticed the night before, and seen it again just now. There was a very brief moment when a shadow of intense pain would pass across his handsome face. His eyes held sorrow and pain not befitting his age and status. He was young and a noble at that. He should be living a very easy life, despite becoming an earl at such an age. But he wasn't. She waved off her own concern. Whatever the reason, it was hardly any of her business.

Damn it! How could he have allowed her to see that! He placed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and inhaled deeply. Calm down. She doesn't know anything. Nor will she. He had to get dressed now. He had told Merryweather he would meet her for breakfast.

He selected garments he was going to wear for the day and let his dressing gown fall to the floor. The chilly air made the hairs on his arms and legs stand on end in a futile attempt to make him warmer. Cain staved off his emotions as he dressed. Fighting the want to crawl back into bed and stay there. To lay there and allow his fears, insecurities, and emotions battle it out until there was nothing left but him, a hollow husk content to lay there in utter apathy until death came to claim him. He hoped Death would take the guise of the robed, scythe wielding personage rather that a certain ashen haired doctor he knew of. Funny how they shared a name.

Someone knocked on his door, accompanied by a voice, "Lord Hargreaves? Are you quite alright? You've been in there for quite a while. Breakfast will be cold, and Merryweather is getting impatient."

Heaven forbid. The last thing he wanted was for his beloved sister to come up in full irritation, pick the lock—a remnant of her street kid days, he was sure—and forcibly drag him to breakfast by whatever piece of him she could grab. He smiled slightly at the image. Still, somewhat unpleasant. And besides, cold breakfast was not palatable.

"I'm coming." With a final once over of his appearance, he opened the door, and walked past Miss James without a single glance in her direction.

"Brother, you took too long. It's gonna get cold." Merryweather stood, hands on hips in a blatant irate display.

"Lost in thought," he sat down at the table, "and, Merryweather, it's 'going to' never 'gonna.' Have you been paying attention to your tutor?"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes at Cain's criticism. Old habits, particularly speech habits, die hard.

"Merryweather…" Cain warned.

"Your tea, sir." Miss James served them their tea, bowing politely.

Once the irritation with her brother's tardiness had passed, conversation continued in a more congenial fashion. It was just simple talk, 'How did you sleep?', "I had the weirdest dream…' etc., but Cain cherished these moments. He smiled fondly at his sister, watching as she spoke animatedly of her opinions and experiences of her small, caged world. He regretted doing that to her. Keeping her locked inside this house, but there were too many dangerous situations that awaited her the moment she set foot outside. Even in this house, where she was watched and cared for, Merryweather wasn't safe. He sipped his tea—Miss James did make excellent tea, that much he would admit— and watched Merryweather interact.

Unlike with him, Miss James was far more relaxed and easy with Merryweather. Her smile was honest and open. She caught him staring and her smile closed off instantly becoming professionally cold.

"If you will excuse me," she said, inclining her head in respect, "I will fetch breakfast." She curtsied and left.

"I don't think she likes me much." Cain muttered once Miss James was out of earshot.

"You have given her little reason to do anything else. Particularly after whatever _happened_ this morning," she mentioned. "If you didn't like her, why did you hire her?"

It was Cain's turn to look terse, "I have a responsibility to keep you and this house in some kind of order. Without the assistance of a Head Butler, things are going to fall into terrible disarray. _That_ was the best choice. My means to an end."

"Well, I like her." Merry stated matter-of-factly. "You would too if you gave her half a chance."

"Getting attached will get me nowhere. It only…" he trailed off.

"Brother at least be civil."

"I am civil."

"Sure you are." She gave him a sardonic smile.

"I am." He insisted only for the sake of arguing.

"Are not." She smiled.

"Am too." He returned her smile.

"Are not."

"Am too."

"Are not." Merryweather began to giggle.

"Am too." This was ridiculous. The exchange was immature. It was silly. It was so far below them that it was beyond description.

It was hilarious.

By the time Miss James returned, the two of them were in stitches. She carried a large, heavy platter loaded with their breakfast. She walked slowly so as not to trip on anything, considering she couldn't see her feet. Cain saw an opportunity there he did not want to pass up. Waiting until his feet disappeared into the blind spot created by the platter; he stuck out a foot and caught her by the ankle. As predicted, Miss James overbalanced and fell.

The platter and its contents hit the ground first, the food splattering everywhere. Orange slices spread across ruined eggs, and salt poured over toast. China dishes shattered into wicked shards. The platter was followed by Miss James. The china lacerated her hands and tore her sleeves. Her face hit the stone and the shards cut her chin, cheeks, nose, and lips.

Merryweather gasped and moved to help; Miss James motioned for her to stay where she was. "You shouldn't, you'll dirty your dress," she said. Miss James slowly picked herself up, ignoring the pain as the shards dug into her palms and as salt and juice from the oranges made her cuts sting and burn. She looked up at Lord Hargreaves, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. Blood streamed down her face and trickled down her neck. Her look held humiliation and disbelief.

"Excuse me, Lord Hargreaves; I must go clean myself up." She stood and walked, head up and straight backed, back into the house.

"Cain!" Merryweather snapped, enraged. The following tirade fell on deaf ears. Cain stared transfixed at the place where Miss James had fallen. The look she had given him burned through his eyes and into his soul. He had gone too far. He hadn't meant…

Lizzy made it to her room, door closed with her leaning against it before she broke down into sobs.

He had hurt her! What had she done? She begged God to tell her what she had done to bring this upon her. Why? She knew he had disliked her, but she had no idea he hated her so intensely.

She wiped away her tears, resolve flooding through her. If he wanted to start a war…

So be it.

Just let it be known he started it. She stared with angry intensity as she stood to clean and bandage her wounds.

Cain can be a jerk. We all know this…


	3. Adjustments

__

Sorry this took as long as it did... I'm sure many of you lost hope in this altogether. Thank you for you continued support!

_OoKamiNami-- Aw, thank you._

_Devil's Black Rose-- I'm honored. I can't tell how happy that makes me. That you would find my fic entertaining despite it not being what you would normally read is so flattering. I'm glad you approve of my characterizations._

_Ber -- Thank you. Although I already said it to your face._

_BlackenedWing -- Thank you for your reviews!_ _I always look forward to reading them! I love your fanfics. I haven't been able to review lately, I just moved and don't have a computer. So, I have to use the library computers and have a thirty minute time limit... I'm just happy I can still read them._

_Can anyone name the song and band that go with the lyrics in this chapter? I hope so... anyway, on with the fic!_

"Brother! What were you thinking?" Merry shouted lividly at her brother.

Cain refused to be visibly affected. In no manner would he show sympathy or any kind of gentle emotion toward that woman. She was an employee. That was all. End of story. He was above her. He needn't explain his actions toward her.

"Brother! Are you listening? She's hurt! Lizzy might have scars on her face." Merryweather's plea for her brother's sympathy went largely unheard.

"That is none of my concern." He countered, holding himself to his indifference. Cain couldn't allow it otherwise.

Merryweather's eyes widened in total shock. Her brother could be cruel, yes, but to openly cause an innocent person harm… It was unlike him.

Footsteps walked across the flagstones, drawing their eyes. Miss James had returned her hands neatly wrapped in gauze with many smaller bandages on her face. Had he not known better, Cain would have mistaken her for one of Delilah's deadly dolls. Her eyes, heavily shrouded with a careful mask, did not help. And he could still see the pain behind that mask. She bowed upon their notice, and bent to pick up the ruined food and broken crockery.

"Lizzy, are you alright?" Merryweather asked. Lizzy lifted her head and smiled gently at Merry's concern. The girl was instinctively kind, drawn into it even more by her brother's cold manner.

"I will be just fine, Miss Merryweather. There is no need to fret over me." She stood with the platter, and turned to leave. She stopped as thought remembering something, "I will return with your meal shortly. Hopefully my lack of balance will not inhibit me this time." With that she took her leave.

Cain mentally flinched. She had chosen her words carefully, each one barbed, accepting his earlier challenge while issuing one of her own. His face however held a pompous smirk. He was fully aware of how vexing he was behaving. It had never stopped him before.

The rest of breakfast passed in an uneasy silence. Miss James waiting on them with a quiet servitude that Cain found wholly _dis_quieting for its similarity to someone whose memory he was trying to keep at bay. Merryweather was glaring daggers at him from across the table. And Cain was making a valiant, but useless, effort of ignoring them both. But the meal came and went without further incident. As Miss James cleared the plates Cain spoke up, breaking the silence that had reigned over the last half hour.

"Can you do math, Miss James?"

"Yes, nothing fancy, but yes. I can add, subtract, multiply, divide, and do fractions and percents. That's all." Most nobles would have scoffed at her meager knowledge, having been educated well past that point years ago. Lord Hargreaves simply nodded.

"Good. You are in charge of managing my household and therefore my accounts." The look he sent her bordered on amused, but Lizzy refused to be ruffled.

"Lead on, My Lord."

"Follow me."

* * *

Lord Hargreaves led Lizzy to her study and Merryweather went off to play somewhere, leaving the pair alone. Despite their differences in age, Lizzy felt safer in Merry's company. With her around, Lord Hargreaves was required to be at least moderately civil. Sort of. Without her presence, the hypothetical floodgates of her master's cruelty were opened and all the walls kept around him were completely up. Lizzy wondered about the wisdom of Merryweather's departure.

Lord Hargreaves eventually stopped and opened one of the numerous doors in the hallway and motioned for Lizzy to enter. The interior was a small study, cluttered, disordered, and terribly messy. He followed in behind her and shut the door.

"This was previously the study of your predecessor, Riffael Raffit." Lord Hargreaves wandered in front of her gesturing absently about the room. "He left in something of a… rush. As you can see, this room has become quite cluttered. I need you to set this room to rights and put the accounts in order. By lunch, if you can." The last was accompanied by an overly polite smile. The likelihood of her being able to complete the task he had set for her was nearly nil. "If you find the task too difficult," He gave a cold, meaningful pause, "I can find someone more suited." The cruel mirth dancing about his eyes was severely unnerving.

Miss James met his look with one of calculated indifference. "Lunch is served at noon. I believe if you come in at a quarter to, you will find every thing is in order." She bowed politely. A smirk tugged at the corners of Lord Hargreaves' mouth.

"I'll leave you to it. I will return at precisely 11:45 a.m. to inspect your," he paused and gave a cynical glance at the disorderly state of the room, "shall we say, progress." His eyes glittered with harsh amusement, the gold in them catching the light.

"As you wish it, My Lord." Miss James did not curtsy, but bowed. Come to think of it, she had curtsied to him once, last night before she had gone to bed, but recently had bowed. Cain arched an eyebrow.

"You are a woman; you should curtsy, should you not?" His voice, light with humor, seemed to echo a little in Miss James' head. She decided—suddenly—that the sound was pleasant.

"I am also your Head Butler." She rose from her bow to meet his eyes, "A position held traditionally by a man. Therefore it stands to reason that, in a position held by a man, I should show respect like one." She squared her shoulders and set her feet firmly apart, hardly a feminine stance.

_Not a normal one in the bunch_. Cain thought to himself, thinking of the people he associated with. _Merryweather, a regular tomboy, so to speak; Oscar, a disowned nobleman in love with a twelve-year-old; Crehador, a spirit medium; and let's not forget me, the earl of poisons. Oh yes. They were as normal as they came. Heh, right._

"Interesting," he said flatly and took his leave.

Lizzy visibly relaxed as the door clicked shut. She studiously surveyed the mess of the study. "Bollocks." She said wearily. It was shaping up to be a very long day. It wasn't even ten yet.

Might as well get started. Disorderly papers, notes, receipts, invoices and ledgers litter the desk, the floor, not to mention every available flat surface. _Some not so flat._ Lizzy noted, studying a teetering stack balanced atop a world globe. Tip-toeing between the scattered papers she started with gathering the residents of the study's desk in to neat piles. Without a place to put things this would be even more difficult than necessary. A nagging voice informed her that she was already well over her head. She couldn't even read the documents, much less organize them.

Lizzy picked up a random page and stared at it. The characters blurred and swam. She moved the page farther away in an attempt to focus the lettering, only to be beset by an old, haggard frustration. Once the page was far enough away as to be in focus, the words and numbers were too small to be read. Tension clawed at her as her stomach knotted. Why had she said she could do it? Tears stung at her eyes, trying to make her frustration manifest.

No! She, Elizabeth James, was the Head Butler of the Hargreaves household. She was s woman in a man's position. She could not allow some silly thing like poor vision stop her from doing her job. There had to be a way around this.

Not seeing an immediate solution, Lizzy returned to the task of straightening things. She could think about it while she worked. Despite the chaotic appearance, moving the documents did not take as long as she had hoped. All too soon she was back to the problem at hand, she was farsighted. She couldn't read the words. Her first day and already she was hiding things from her employer. Wonderful start, Lizzy, just wonderful.

As a last ditch effort, Lizzy began shuffling through the drawer and cabinets of the desk, hoping against hope that she might find something she could use. Her heart leapt up into her throat at the sight of what might be her salvation, trifling though it was.

* * *

Cain walked away from the study, his steps slightly faltering as he made an introverted effort to fend off the waves of pain that threatened, once again, to overwhelm him. Why? Why wouldn't his thrice damned memories and emotions leave him in peace?

He took refuge in his private study, there were some letters he had yet to read and respond to. Although he had been putting it off, god forbid he do anything resembling work, at the moment he would do anything to put Riff and the memories associated with him, out of his mind.

Much of it was dull. One was a complaint from some aristocrat or other, stating in short peevish phrases that his behavior was ill befitting one of his position. His eyes read the words as his mind ignored the chastisement. He'd heard it all before, over and over, reiterated time and again from his Uncle Neil. A bill. What a shock. An offer of someone's daughter in marriage. He'd met her, she wasn't even moderately attractive. He sighed; this was not proving to be much of a distraction.

Last but not least was a letter from none other than his Uncle Neil. The parchment announced that his uncle would be arriving in three days time in order to remedy the household's lack of Head Butler. He was bringing several candidates for him to make his selection from. Cain checked the postmark. It had been sent the day before. Hm. Before he could stop himself, Cain began to laugh. It was a cold, mirthless sound, a laugh of bitter irony rather than joy or happiness. The very day he hires someone, his uncle practically proclaims he is going to hire someone for him. Perhaps he should warn Miss James. After all, as his Head Butler she should be informed of the goings on in the house, and, she was by far preferable to whatever his uncle could come up with. The lesser of two evils. Well, more like the lesser of about six evils if his assumption that his uncle was likely to bring roughly five candidates to show to him.

Once again, his choice of Head Butler was going to cause a conflict with his uncle. If he recalled correctly, Uncle Neil's critique of Riff consisted of too young and far too inexperienced. A sardonic smile tugged at his mouth. Not only was Miss James younger than Riff was when he first came to the Hargreaves household, she was just as inexperienced, and—and this was just the icing on the proverbial cake—she was a woman to boot. Just picturing Uncle Neil's utter disbelief at yet another scandal made his spirits lift just ever so slightly.

His laughter began to die down, the stitch in his side unfamiliar and strange. He felt a bit tired but it was oddly pleasant. The endorphins released by the laughter calmed him and relaxed his perpetually tense shoulders. There was something to laughing every once in a while.

* * *

Lizzy, much like Cain, was experiencing a marked improvement in her mood. Her discovery of the item in the desk drawer had been a simple one, a magnifying glass. By moving the paper to where it was in focus and then enlarging the print with the magnifying glass, she could see and read the names and dates with relative ease. The work had lost its desperation and, according to the clock sitting on a crowded bookshelf (which she hadn't seen until she'd nearly hit her head on the clock's overhanging edge), she was making good time.

As she worked, Lizzy began to sing wordlessly, just some tune she had heard at one time. It had words, and they ran through her mind as she organized the papers.

_Caress the one _

_The never fading rain in your heart_

_Through tears of snow white sorrow_

_Caress the one_

_The hiding Amaranth_

_In a land of the daybreak_

When she had first heard it, Lizzy had been perhaps fourteen at the time, it had left her confused. What the bloody hell was an Amaranth, and why was it hiding? In confusion she had gone and asked the one person she knew who could most likely answer her question, her mother.

Her mother, despite her profession, was well read and educated. She taught her daughter how to read, write, and do basic math. Ensuring she would have the ability to do better in life than she. To be, as her beloved mother had often said, more than just the sum of your parts.

Lizzy waited patiently outside her mother's room, dutifully ignoring the sounds coming from it. The man who had eventually emerged was corpulent, sweaty, greasy and otherwise unpleasant to look upon. He looked down at the girl sitting outside the door, barely fourteen-years-old, with a lustful stare. He held a small handful of coin out to her. Lizzy stood, brushed off her dress, and straightened.

"You done? Good. Tuck your cock back in your knickers, I need to speak with my mother," and left the man standing dumbly in the hall and shut the door behind her.

"Hey, Mum. Need help cleaning up?"

"Oh. Lizzy. I didn't hear you come in." Lizzy took the robe from the closet and handed it to her naked mother who gratefully accepted it, "Thank you."

"Need help?" Lizzy asked again, gesturing about the room's rumpled blankets and floors dirtied with god-only-knew-what. Well, Lizzy knew very well what the floors and blankets were covered with, but pointedly refused to think about it. The less she had to think about those awful men with her mother like that, the better off she would be.

"If you're willing, yes." Her mother's voice assented from the opposing side of the room. Lizzy could have crossed it in three steps. Rather small steps. Between the two of them, the wet and sticky (don't think about it) sheets were in the hamper and the floor thoroughly scrubbed. Her mother watched gently as Lizzy rinsed the remaining lye from her hands, "Now, what did you need?" Her mother asked.

"What makes you think I needed something?" Lizzy asked coolly, with all the indignant attitude of her age. Her mother chuckled softly.

"You never come to the House unless you need something. You leave the idle chatter for when I'm home." Her knowing smile make her seem years younger. Lizzy sighed in defeat.

"Mum, what's an Amaranth?" She asked.

"It's a flower."

"That makes no bloody sense at all!" Lizzy huffed, irritated at the prospect of the song's meaning being forever withheld from her. Her mother found her childish display of vexation comical and laughed.

"Watch your language, Lizzy," she chided, still laughing. "That might depend on a few things. How is it used?"

"In a song."

"Very useful." Her mother gave her a sardonic smile, "Sing me the lyrics."

"But—"

"Please," She insisted softly.

Lizzy cleared her throat and began to sing the song she had heard. Her voice was clear and pleasant, the words clearly sung; it was a voice that could have been magnificent, but lacked the training. Talent, but little skill.

"Well?" Lizzy asked when she was done, impatient as ever.

"It's being used symbolically." Her mother explained, "As legend goes, an Amaranth is a flower that supposedly never fades. As such, when used lyrically, like it this song, it's referring to something, or quite possibly someone, that is not only eternal, but shall never fade. Something that will forever be as it is now.

"So why is it hiding?"

Another laugh.

"I can only assume, but something that doesn't fade would be highly valued and sought after. The necessity to remain hidden would be for its own protection. Or perhaps those who would possess it."

"Like keeping your money hidden protects you from being robbed."

"Precisely."

"Thanks, Mum."

"Any time."

Not long after that, her mother began to become ill. An illness, according to the gypsy woman they had persuaded to examine her as they could not afford a doctor, brought upon by sleeping with too many men.

Lizzy yanked her mind away from such thoughts. Sorrow had long since ebbed to loneliness, which, in turn, had ebbed to an inconvenient ache. Nothing more.

The last document was at last stored away. The clock informed her it was twenty minutes until noon. Five minutes. She had completed her task with a bare five minutes to spare. Lizzy let out a heavy sigh of relief. She doubted she could get to the other wing of the house in that time.

She leaned back against the edge to the desk—_her­_ desk, she amended—to relax a bit, let the tension flow out of her. Tension that was likely to fully reassert itself when Lord Hargreaves returned. The song was still stuck in her head, beseeching her to sing along with the melody. Knowing she would remain alone for a while longer she allowed herself to add the word to the melody.

"Caress the one/ the never fading rain in your heart…"

* * *

Cain was outside the door to Riff's—Miss James'—study right at 11:45 a.m., he would not give her even a minute's benefit. His ears caught the sound of a voice coming through the door. Miss James was the only one in that room, and she was _singing_. For that moment, he found himself entranced by the clear unobstructed sound of the human voice. What was she singing?

"…tears of snow white sorrow…"

The words held him, and her voice linked them to images in his head. The images were fuzzy, undefined. But images nonetheless. Whatever they were, they were painful, and their clarity would be yet another anomaly to haunt his nightmares, he was quite sure.

"…in a land of the daybreak."

The singing stopped, the verse supposedly finished, and Cain shook himself from the spell the music had caught him in. Come to think of it, music always seemed to be capable of weaving its spells around him. Trapping him in memories best forgotten. Lord Cassandra, High Priest of Delilah's Major Arcana, had used a pocket sized music box to manipulate him, come to think of it. White Owl's violin, Moon's gypsy songs, music of obscure genre was probably something he should avoid where he could.

He entered the study without knocking, hoping to catch the woman off guard and once again breaking that professional persona. Upon his entry, however, Miss James' composure did not even falter.

But Cain's did.

The study was practically spotless. It needed a dusting mind, but there was not a misplaced paper in sight. His mouth hung agape; his eyes wide in consternation. In short, he was effectively gobsmacked.

Miss James looked up from where she had been leaning against her desk—her desk! Not Riff's. Hers!—and smiled, proud she had not only met and surpassed her employer's expectations, but her own as well. Feeling that she was effectively proving herself to be capable and useful. Her smile faded as she saw Lord Hargreaves' expression slowly turn from that of shock to one of anger.

_All traces of Riff are being erased. By this woman. You will die alone and unloved. No one knows you. Those who do want to kill you. You are disgusting. Cursed. Alone. Even Riff abandoned you. This woman…is attempting to remove the only one who loved you…illusion though it was…_

"Do you somehow think this makes you worthy of praise?" He snapped. Miss James took a step back form the pure venom poured into that sentence.

Whatever fear Lizzy experienced at that moment (and part of her wanted to cower like a kicked dog) was overshadowed by her curiosity as her attentive mind made note of his eyes. While anger was indeed present, it was the anger of a cornered beast. Fear and pain were the sources of this anger.

"I was simply glad to see that I had finished the task you set for me in a timely manner." She retook the step she had taken backward and stood firm. "No praise from you is necessary. I am not a dog who begs to be petted. Is it done to your specifications? That is all I require." Miss James stood with her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her.

"It will do," he ceded. "Now get out."

"Pardon?"

"I said: get out." Lord Hargreaves' voice was low and frightened her far more that any of his previous displays of emotion.

"Merryweather will be expecting you for lunch. We should go."

"I will do as I please."

"Would you leave her there?" She demanded, controlled anger slipped into her tones, "She's expecting you. I know it's only something small, but that's all the more valuable. It's the little things that—"

"You dare lecture me?"

"Only when I feel it necessary." She snapped.

"You are in my employ and will do as I ask." Cain retorted, his voice slowly rising in volume. "Now leave, Miss James. You mediocre attempts at servitude are of no use to me here!" His words were clipped short in anger.

Lord Hargreaves' eyes were intense with an emotion she couldn't read. All she knew was the contents of those emotions were under pressure, and God only knew what would occur should the pressure suddenly be released. It sent a shiver of her own emotions shuddering down her back. Fear was only part of it, anger was there, but there was something else, something far more dangerous. Lizzy held back her words. The argument that she had once again wanted to start.

"Shall I inform Miss Merryweather that you will be absent for lunch?" Her eyes were reproachful and accusing, but her voice and manner held no admonishment.

"Go. Bring me lunch in my rooms. I'll eat there." Lord Hargreaves' eyes were far away, reliving some distant memory, searching the shelves for something that apparently no longer resided there.

"Yes, Lord Hargreaves." And he was once again alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Later that evening, Cain was alone in his rooms, dozing in a chair. His subconscious mind began to wander, showing him pieces of people, snippets of memory. Suzette lying catatonic and still. Emeline's hacked and bloody corpse. Meridianna with that peacefully defiant smile as she stabbed herself, sealing her death with the blade he had given her, before disintegrating into nothing but dust in his arms. Riff's cold glare as he closed his finger's around his master's throat. Miss James, hurt and betrayed, wrapped as though a deadly doll, expression dead, refusing to open up to him. Her eyes boring into his very soul.

The last woke him abruptly. The clock read 10:30. He should probably undress and go to sleep. The day had not gone well. He had been cruel to Miss James, unnecessarily so. She had thought to get a job only to find herself in a hell where the position of Lucifer was held by none other than himself. Elizabeth James. She must surely hate him by now. A knock sounded from the door, startling him from his reverie.

"Who is it?" He called.

"Miss James, Sir. May I come in?" Her voice was muffled by the door. A pause, "Are you… decent?" Unless he was mistaken, there was a definite edge of humor in her voice. The memory of that morning, (it seemed so long ago) made a smile twitch at the edges of his mouth.

"Yes, come in." She probably wanted an apology. She deserved one.

"Could you open the door? I'm… sort of… carrying something."

"How do you 'sort of' carry something?"

"Oh, shut up and open the door!" Miss James snapped good humouredly.

Cain lifted himself from the chair and opened the door. The 'sort of' part became clear, she was carrying a tea tray, but it had another tray of artistically arranged cakes balance precariously atop it. Miss James looked angrily embarrassed, the lively spirit displayed the night before making a sure-fire comeback, face flushed and brow furrowed.

"Well, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to let me in?" A slight smile, sardonic in nature, curved up her lips. Cain moved out of the way.

"Did you need something?" Cain asked as he watched her arrange the tea things on the low table. She paused before putting the last cup on the table and turning to face him. She stood at her full height; hands clasped in front of her, but wore an expression of penitence, oddly enough.

"I'm sorry." Miss James said earnestly.

"For what?"

"For whatever I've done to upset you. I will graciously accept your critique." Her eyes met his, and trapped him where he stood. "That way I won't cause you further trouble. And…" She trailed off, suddenly frustrated, "May I speak my mind?"

"I doubt I could stop you."

"I wasn't in your employ then, Sir."

"If I had fired my previous Head Butler every time he said something potentially offensive, I would have had to fire him more times than should be physically possible. Go ahead." For once the mention of Riff did not seem to hurt him, or rather, it was a tolerable pain instead of an unbearable one.

"And I wouldn't have to deal with being the sole target of your downright shitty mood swings, you arrogant bastard!" Miss James spat in a vexed rush.

Silence reigned for a moment. Cain looked momentarily shocked at her words; Miss James shocked at the fact that she had said them at all. The air was tense enough to be palpable. Miss James couldn't take it, however, and began to giggle. Cain, unable to stop himself, joined her. The tension shattered in an instant. Their laughter, had anyone been awake to hear it, would have likely shocked the house into silence. Miss James did not know it, but Cain C. Hargreaves did not laugh.

"Alright…Enough." Cain gasped, unable to breathe for laughing so hard.

"Enough of what?" Miss James asked from the floor. she had sunk there in her own fit of giggles.

"This deferential, submissive act you keep putting on. It doesn't suit you. Quit it." He walked over to her, hand extended as an assist in getting up. She accepted and placed her calloused, bandaged hand in his smooth one. Miss James stood her face pensive as they faced each other, hands still clasped. "You are amongst a house of oddities. Flippant remarks will not cost you your job. The only reason I would fire you would be if you neglected your duties or out right betrayed me. Exist as you perceive yourself to be. Not as what is necessarily expected."

"Yes, Sir… er… alright." The professional mask almost lifted into place before being dropped to shatter on the floor. "Would you like some tea before bed?" She gestured to the tray she had brought.

"I would like that, thank you."

Cain sat and watched the young woman make tea for him. Her hands were calloused and worn, not to mention bandaged, where his own were smooth, but they were long fingered and elegant. In the darker light her hair looked a beautiful brown, but he knew that in sunlight, the highlights in her hair blazed like polished copper. Her eyes, green with brown, brown where his were gold, would his eyes have looked like that if not for his cursed heritage?

He took the tea offered him and sipped it, savoring the taste. Almost as an afterthought, he caught her hand in his turning it so the palm faced up. Cain set the tea down and traced the edges of the bandages that covered her wounded skin.

"This is rather poorly done. Have you never bandaged a wound?" He asked, holding her one hand in two of his.

"I… I was in a hurry. I had little time to do it right." A blush covered her cheekbones and was spreading up to her ears. It wasn't the dainty blush the high born ladies sported; it was down to earth and natural, and all the more interesting because of it.

"Stay here." Cain stood and walked to a cabinet, returning with bandages and a bottle of sterile alcohol.

* * *

Lizzy didn't know what to do with herself. Lord Hargreaves had gone to a cabinet to fetch bandages and alcohol, the kind used to clean wounds. Who kept alcohol and bandages in their room? When he returned he sat and arranged the items on the table.

"Kneel."

"What?"

"Kneel. It will be easier to bandage your hand if you are lower than me."

"You don't have to do tha—"

"It's my fault." Couldn't argue with that, "would you at least let me bandage it?" He looked up at her and she met his gaze. For a moment he looked his age, eighteen or so. His eyes, green-gold like a cat's, beautiful in their brief honesty, held her. "Now, kneel."

Lizzy did as she was bid.

Lord Hargreaves took her hand in his and gently began to peel away the bandages. His hands were surprisingly tender. He allowed the bandage to fall to the floor, exposing the crisscrossed cuts on her palm and fingers. He wetted a cloth and slowly began to clean the lacerations.

"I truly am sorry." His voice low and earnest, "I can't explain what I was thinking, but please accept my apology."

"I—ow!"

"It will sting, hold still." Her stomach turned flip flops. His grip on her hand had tightened and his attentions continued, making her lose her train of thought. Lord Hargreaves was extremely attractive, pale, dark and intense, and so complicated, all at once. Lizzy finally admitted to herself. She was interested, what woman wouldn't be? And no man had ever touched her in such a gentle manner. Still, regardless of such attraction, it was not worth the effort to pursue. Consider perhaps, but not pursue.

Lizzy felt a trifle embarrassed at the attention he was giving her hands. She had seen the hands of the ladies worthy of his status and social standing, they were soft and smooth, slathered in lotion daily. Hers were covered in callouses and scars. He didn't seem to mind, though.

"That should do it." Lord Hargreaves finally released her hand.

"Thank you." Lizzy said as she clasped her hands to her chest. She looked up at the clock on the wall, "It's late. I should go." She stood and rearranged her dress about her legs. "I'll leave the tray here if you like." Lord Hargreaves watched her and stood when she reached the door. "Good night, Lord Hargreaves."

"Good night, Miss James." Her hand touched the door handle when he interrupted her departure, "I suppose I should warn you." He said.

Lizzy looked at him with a suspicious expression on her face. "Warn me of what?"

"Uncle Neil, my legal guardian of sorts, is coming tomorrow evening. I received his letter this morning; he is coming to remedy my lack of Head Butler. He is currently unaware that I have hired you, and it is too late to inform him of such. He has the tendency to be ill tempered, but you needn't fear him. He won't physically do anything to you, and he can't do anything about who I do and do not employ." There was an amused tone to his voice that said, without a shadow of a doubt, that for the most part, Uncle Neil was not someone he took very seriously.

"Will he be angry?"

"Probably. In his eyes, you are far too young and inexperienced for the job."

"And a woman." Lizzy added. Lord Hargreaves smiled.

"That too. You have me convinced you can do this job, he will take longer." The smile turned sardonic and at least moderately devilish, "He often disapproves of my employees."

"Thank you for the warning."

"You're my Head Butler and my personal servant; you need to know my household's happenings." Lizzy smiled and nodded. She turned back to the door and paused, suddenly vexed about something.

"Er… Lord Hargreaves?"

"Hm?"

"Could you…walk me to my room?" She mumbled, blushing furiously up to her ears, "I can't remember where it is."

"Of course," he chuckled, and led the way.

* * *

_That was it! I hope it's okay... please review! It serves as fuel for the fires of my imagination/inspiration. Meager as they are... --'_

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